


Dream, Darling

by cedarcity



Category: GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Inspired by Poetry, Love Letters, M/M, Poetry, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Post-World War II, Romantic Fluff, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarcity/pseuds/cedarcity
Summary: Are you okay? I haven't heard from you in two or three months. I'm starting to believe something bad has happened to you.I've checked the mail every day, the only reason I've left the bed. I still haven't washed the sheets. I know, it is disgusting, I just can't bring myself to wash off the smell of you.Today you have red carnations. These represent admiration and missing someone. I admire and miss you. Please come home, Dream. Please. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to sleep with. I don't want anyone else- just you.I noticed that I couldn't see the color of the carnations today, I picked them just yesterday. What does that mean? Does that mean you're hurt? Please at least write back, tell me you love me. I need to know if you're still with me, baby. I'm sure you are, you're so strong- such a fighter. You're trained for this, right? You worked hard for this, to serve your country, right?Please answer me, I don't know how else to reach you Please, my darling.I'll love you and miss you forever until you're safely in my arms.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Luke | Punz (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Luke | Punz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Dream, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first time using ao3, I hope it's good lol SO basically, this is a World War II au, and the world is in black and white until they meet their soulmate and uhhh enjoy.. I'll be honest- this story was heavily inspired by Dear Dream by Qekyo QJEFBQOUEF PLEASE ENJOY
> 
> btw, I'm still editing and revising!

_January 1942_

The sky was colorless, as was the iron door George pushed through to enter the coffee shop. He had thirty cents in the pocket of his high-waisted khaki slacks and was hoping for a sense of writing inspiration in the oldened building. It was difficult to describe a world that was in only three shades- grey, black and white. He took a seat at a small table, an empty iron chair placed in front of him across the silver table.

A short woman with her hair in dense curls and a tightly buttoned dress approached George. "Welcome."

George hadn't been out of the house in weeks to avoid the raging 1940s World War II outside but decided to finally relax his wandering mind with a warm cup of coffee and thinking up some poems. "Good day."

"How shall I help you today, sir?" The woman asked with curious eyes, and George wondered if she was able to see colors yet.

"A small cup of joe, please." George always tried to be polite, especially when talking to elders or dames. 

"It'll be about five minutes." She nodded shortly, then took off behind the counter.

George looked out the window, and everything seemed smokey and covered in ash. Someday he'd get to see the real colors- if there were any. He thought about where he'd go after the coffee shop and decided he would just go back home and reread a book that he practically had memorized. His thoughts were interrupted when a tall man sat at the chair in front of him.

"Hi." The tall man said, and George could tell that he had freckles- even with the uncontrollably colorless world.

"Hello?" George wasn't sure why this stranger was talking to him, or why he was holding a piece of paper and charcoal pencils.

"I'm a struggling artist- um, I'm Dream, but can I draw you? It might just be the only way for me to fully capture your elegance." Dreams voice was smooth, and his perfect smile came even smoother.

"Why me?" George didn't have the patience to deal with someone today, not to mention sitting still long enough for him to finish a mediocre portrait.

"You have an exquisite physique." Dream searched for words to describe the stranger. "I think you'd appreciate it."

"Would you make me pay for it? I only have thirty cents with me today- just enough for this coffee." 

"No, ill let you off."

"Maybe that's why you're struggling then." George felt bad for treating Dream with such disrespect, but he wasn't trying to make friends- not in this time period.

"You're the only one that I've offered that deal to, actually."

"How long will this take?" George asked the question but didn't have anywhere else he needed to be.

"Does artwork have a time limit?" Dream glanced up at George, then began drawing him. 

Even though George didn't want the portrait done, he still sat there quietly, letting Dream do his work. The waitress came and left, George barely moving as he pulled the change out of his pocket. Occasional sips of his coffee kept him awake while Dream focused on the paper, taking looks at George every chance he could.

"You really are a piece of art." Dream said once he set the charcoal pencil on the silver table. "Would you like to see?"

"Yeah." George had been sitting still for at least an hour and a half and was desperate to see what Dream came up with.

Dream turned the paper around, and a carefully drawn portrait of George stared at him. He was sitting confidently, with a straight, yet soft face. Every eyelash, every crease in his lips, every hair strand was drawn out with perfection and grace. 

"Holy- This is beautiful." George was at a loss of words for how he felt about the carefully drawn lines and shadings. "This is absolutely brilliant."

A warm smile cracked Dreams face, and he admired how George stared in disbelief at the paper. "What's your name?"

George looked up from the drawing and made eye contact with the man. "George Henry Davidson."

"I like it- it's proper."

George smiled and felt like blushing at the compliment. "I appreciate it. Dream, was it?"

"Yeah, it is."

"So peculiar. Why Dream?"

"It's better than my birth-given name, but never mind that. You can keep this if you'd like." Dream handed George the drawing and began to stand up.

George also stood and noticed how tall Dream really was. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, although ill miss the memory of your porcelain face, I really think you could find more use for it than I could." 

"Thank you- wow." George looked at the picture again, feeling the same shock as when he first laid his sore eyes on it. He folded it into a small square and pushed it into the pocket of his slacks where the change once was. "I'll never forget you, Dream."

"Have a good one." Dream left the coffee shop, and George watched him walk down the London sidewalk in the icy weather. 

George opened the shop door and pushed himself through into the cold air, his nose freezing up. He began his walk home, Dreams smile stuck on his brain.

-

The next day, George went back to the coffee shop at the same time as the day before and looked around the tables for any sight of Dream. With a huff of defeat, he sat at a barstool by the counter. 

"Welcome back." The same waitress smiled at George. "Same order?"

"Yes, please." George tugged the money out of his pocket and set it on the counter. He grabbed a napkin and asked for a cup of ink and feather. As soon as he was provided one, he began writing. 

_How do I even begin to compare thee to a summer day_

_glowing skin and honey hair?_

_Thy beauty shall be described to a warm time in May_

_with bright eyes, juicy as a fresh pear._

_Dream, darling, I could write a story about thy smile_

_elegant- pearls between soft lips_

_Thy wouldn't realize how it compliments the profile_

_?_

_Like a dream, I refuse to awake_

_a sight for the sorest eyes_

_These feelings- the repel of vague_

_I wish to only be where thou lies._

_Thy makes a head turn_

_a flame, a sweet, and fiery burn._

George looked up and turned from the writing as the bell at the door dinged, alarming that someone had walked in. His heart raced when he saw Dream enter the shop.

Dream smiled when he saw George and made his way to the counter. "Waiting on me?"

George scoffed, his face unnoticeably flustering with the tease. "No, of course not."

Dream sat at a stool next to George and peeked at the napkin. "What's that?"

Hastily, George crinkled up the napkin and shoved it in his pocket. "Nothing of your concern."

Dream smiled knowingly but laid off the tugging. "Fine, fine. How's your day going today, Mr. Henry?"

"George is fine- and my days going quite swell, how about you?"

"Well, George, my day was pretty bland until I surprised myself."

"Oh yeah?" George turned to Dream, and curiously studied his freckles of all different shades and sizes.

"I looked in the mirror- and for the first time, I noticed I had green eyes." Dream smiled. "My soulmates close, George."

George smiled, for Dream. "That's great. I wonder who the lass is?"

"Me as well. I hope her hair is soft and I hope she smells like roses." Dream smiled at George and then turned his attention to the countertop. 

"Can you see all the colors?"

"Just green so far. Do you think that means they don't love me back?"

"Maybe they didn't meet you yet."

"Maybe." 

George took a deep breath. "Do you read?"

"I try to be a vivid reader, knowledge is power. It's hard to acquire knowledge from anywhere but a good book, id say." 

"Agreed. Do you read much poetry?" George sipped his coffee.

"I love poetry."

George smiled and set down his mug, making astonished eye contact with Dream. "Poetry fills a void in my heart that no other work with words could ever possibly fulfill."

Dream smirked. "Do you write or just read?"

"Sometimes I fiddle with my words, but I get nervous to read any of it to someone else."

"Would you read me what's on the napkin?" Dreams tone became a bit more demanding, and it spooked George.

"Yes sir." George pulled the napkin out of his pocket, feeling vulnerable with the authority Dream suddenly had over him. "Here." George shoved the wrinkled napkin to Dream, and could barely watch as he unraveled it and stared at the thin cursive.

" _Dream, darling._ " Dream recited. 

"I'm sorry I was just awakened by you-"

"I like it." Dream looked up from the napkin and made eye contact with George. "You can express your feelings with words- it's impressive."

"You're impressed by me?" George smiled when Dream did, catching his happiness like the flu. 

"I'm stunned."

George stood from his stool and rested his hand on Dreams shoulder. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Depends if you're here or not."

George smiled and walked out of the shop. He made his way to his parents' house for dinner and knocked on the door. They opened it and allowed George to make himself at home at the dining table. 

"How have you been this week, George?" Georges mother spooned stew into his bowl, then took a seat next to her husband. 

"Fine. I met someone new." George had minimal respect for his parents but refused to let them know it. He was always an obedient son, even at the age of twenty-four.

"Is she pretty?" Georges father made deep eye contact with him.

George decided to ignore his fathers' remark, except to change the pronouns. " _He_ is a struggling artist and loves reading poetry."

"You better not start thinking you're allowed to fiddle with this kid, no?"

"No, I'm not queer." George took his first spoonful of soup in his mouth, and the flavors tasted like Christmas day- it was a meal his mother saved specifically for wintertime. 

"Good- I don't want the townspeople thinking I'm raising a fag."

George winced at the use of the slur- even he knew it was an incorrect thing for his father to say. "Yes, sir."

"Tell us more about him."

"He's really tall and has freckles. I can tell his hairs lightly colored, even though I still can't see properly." George's tone got excited the more he spoke. "And we met at a coffee shop. Oh, he drew me yesterday."

"He drew you?" Georges mother set her spoon down and put her hands in her lap.

"Yes, and oh, it's a masterpiece. It's so perfectly drawn out and better than any other work I've ever seen."

"What's his name?" His fathers' voice boomed.

"Dream."

"Is he queer?"

"I doubt it, he's manly." George knew his parents would disapprove of him socializing with someone brave enough to be out of the closet, so even if Dream was into men, he'd keep it private.

"You're welcome to stay the night if you prefer." Georges mother suggested in a calming voice against his fathers' tone.

"I wish I could but I'm almost finished with this amazing book." George stood up from the table, his dinner barely even half-eaten. "See you next week, I presume?"

"Were looking forward to it, Henry."

George winced at the use of his middle name and left the house. 

He stared at his shoes the entire walk home, constantly thinking about Dream. Dreams hair, Dreams smile, Dreams giggle. It wouldn't leave his mind. as soon as he got home, he ran a bath and sat in the tub with a copy of Serenade by Jan Jacob Slauerhoff. Even though he was reading the words, his brain took them and made the lyrics about Dream.

"He's driving me to insanity," George said to himself. He closed the book, and the cover looked warm. "is this pink?" He ran his hand over the cover, and it became a baby pink. 

George smiled to himself. "She's close." He couldn't stop staring at the cover and thinking about who his possible soulmate was. "Maybe it's the waitress from the shop." Seconds after he said it, the color in the book cover faded into a sickening grey once again.

"What?" George scrunched his eyebrows, and Dreams smile appeared in his brain, causing him to automatically smile. The book cover glowed a warm pink. George realized after only a second and threw the book to the other side of the bathroom. He stared in disbelief, and when he saw Dreams freckles dancing on his face in his pretty mind, he couldn't help but feel his heart race.

_March 1942_

Almost two months had gone by, and George went to the coffee shop nearly every day. He saw Dream almost every time he was there, and they started taking walks after sipping down a cup of joe. 

George liked Dream- he liked how happy and giddy he made him feel. The more they talked, the brighter the world was starting to become. They never stopped smiling when they were together, and Dream would arrive at the coffee shop with a tiny sketch for George to find a famous quote to puzzle together with it.

Some days, though, George didn't see Dream. Sometimes, George was too busy to go to the coffee shop and those were the times where his days were a bit dimmer. He still had the remembrance of Dreams face in his mind, but it wasn't enough for him to go on. Other days, Dream just didn't show up, and the next time he did, they never spoke of his absence.

It was hard when George went to the coffee shop and didn't see Dream, the world seemed to lose all color when it happened. He would always walk in, wait for nearly two hours, then sigh in disappointment and walk out. George was constantly being told by his parents that he seemed perkier, and they occasionally asked if hed met his soulmate yet- George would have to lie and say no.

Dream wouldn't show up to the shop about once a week, to give George a break. _Absence makes the heart grow fonder,_ hed always tell himself, even though he knew George longed to see him. The world was growing colorful, the more he spent time with George, and he already knew he was meant for him. Dream didn't want his family to see such a masculine man fooling around with another male, so he kept his colors private. Dream knew George would never accept that they were soulmates, and maybe it was one-sided. He did know though, that George was never-not smiling when he was around Dream and that he at least enjoyed his company.

Dreams world was in nearly full color, and he was sure he knew who his soulmate was. George on the other hand could only see half the world's vibrance, mostly pinks, greens, and blues. He refused to believe the inevitable, stopping him from enduring the beauty of the universe.

They often had deep talks regarding poetry, and George figured he was annoying Dream to the core with quotes from Serenade. Dream always had something to say about an art gallery opening on the other side of town, and sometimes he would drag George along to go admire the work. It was a day of walking, but a day to spend with Dream and George wouldn't refuse.

Sometimes, Dream would come home with George, and they'd sit by the fire and drink warm tea. One of those nights were the first time Dream discovered orange and yellow. Dream would sit criss-cross on the floor, often with George's cat on his lap as he drew him, over and over again. George sat on his sofa and admired Dream studying whatever caught his interest. 

George opened the door to the coffee shop and smiled widely when he saw Dream sitting at the counter with his usual mug of coffee and an extra for George. "You didn't have to pay for me." 

Dream was spooked when he heard George's voice, and turned to him and smiled. "It's my pleasure."

George sat at the barstool next to Dream. "Whats the sketch for today?"

Dream smiled and pulled a folded piece of tan parchment paper out of the pocket of his pants and slid it on the counter to George.

The picture was a bouquet of flowers, all different shapes and sizes, tied together with a ribbon and a string bow. 

"' _There's rosemary, thats for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies. thats for thoughts.'"_ George smiled when he finished saying it. "Shakespeares Hamlet."

"That one is perfect." Dream smiled as well and sipped his coffee, the flavors exploding on his tongue. "Would you like to go on a walk with me this fine day?"

"Id love to." George and Dream finished their joe and they walked out of the shop together. The sun was out, reminding them spring was coming, but there was also a cool breeze to tell them winter wasn't quite over yet. 

"George, will you hold my hand?" Dream walked alongside George and held out his pinkened fingers.

"Oh." George's heart raced. He looked behind him and saw none of the other townsfolks were paying any mind to him. Without saying another word, he grabbed Dream's hand. Moments after he did, colours sprouted in front of him and for the first time, he saw Dreams' hair color and the sun- they were nearly parallel. "Your hair- it's yellow!"

Dream looked down at George and grinned widely. "It is!"

George's palm sweated at the sight of Dreams perfectly aligned smile, and he looked at the ground. "Where are you taking me?"

Without a word, they walked to the town's library. Dream held the door open for George, the smell of musty paper and ink filled their noses. The library was nearly empty, and their voices echoed throughout the shelves. Dust was collecting on many of the books, and the entire place had big windows so light could peek through, no lightbulbs along the ceiling, except a lamp by a study table. 

"You've got to stop rereading Serenade for the umpteenth time, hm?" Dream made his way to the poetry section, George following behind. 

"It's a good read." 

"You'll have to let me borrow it then, yeah?" 

George smiled and looked along the shelves of oldened writings, some of the necks of the books torn and ripped. He ran his hand over the colorless books and figured most of them were reds and purples. A line of dust was removed as he swiped his finger on the backs in a satisfying array. "Of course."

Dream pulled a book off the shelf, careful not to tug too hard on the worn-out neck. "Maroon is such a romantic color." 

George walked over to Dream and stared at the book cover _There, There: A Novel by Tommy Orange_. "It's just black for me."

Dream looked at George, his height causing him to look down. He leaned and kissed George's forehead shortly, the warm feeling of his skin on his soft lips gave him butterflies. "Now can you see it?" 

George stared at the book cover as his heart rate picked up, and it looked like blood spilled all over the book. He looked up at Dream. "It's beautiful." 

Dream smiled and opened the book with a crack of the spine. "Have you read this?"

"It's a very good story, id say. A lot of emotions, mostly anger and distraught, but some are funny." George grabbed the book from Dream and flipped it over to the back, swiping dust off. "I read this so long ago."

"So you'd recommend it?"

"Oh, for sure." George handed Dream the book and went back to studying the shelves. He looked at the shelf above his head and stood on his tippy toes to squeeze it out of its nook. "This one looks interesting." George stared at the navy blue cover. "And it's by Jan Jacob Slauerhoff- He wrote _Serenades,_ by the way."

"Have you read it?"

"No, maybe ill become as addicted to this one as I am to his other works. Did you know he was dutch?" George opened the book and let the smell of ink and old paper sink into his nose. "I love the smell of old books."

"How old is that one?"

" _Saturnus_ , written in 1930." 

Dream couldn't help but admire George's knowledge of such articles of life. He was like a story himself- written in the finest penmanship with the blackest ink and the most vintage scroll. "Sometimes it's hard for me to comprehend what a poet is trying to express while writing with such words. For example, Shakespeare seems to have created a whole new language."

"It's easy to get lost inside of the void poets create- it takes a mind more open than the void to understand." George didn't take his eyes off the book. "Do you agree?"

"Certainly." Dream smiled shyly at George's focus on the paper. "Did you think of that?"

"I did, but maybe it'll come up elsewhere in the future."

Dream liked how George spoke. He used such words of wisdom that it was astonishing to Dream. "How many colors can you see?"

Now, George pulled his eyes from the pages. He stared at Dreams' sweet smile, and his pink lips lining it. "As much to know you're the most beautiful man I've ever spoken to."

"You can see my eyes?"

"They're as green as the hostas lined in front of the coffee shop, but your eyes, they're more beautiful than those plants will ever be."

Dreams face flushed pink, and his palms began to sweat against the blood-colored cover of Tommy Oranges novel. "You have a way with words that sends me into some sort of bliss."

"Good. I want to make you feel like the dreamboat you are."

Dream smiled, his face switching from a soft pink to a burnt magenta. "You make it seem like the war is nonexistent."

"The only explosion in my world is the butterflies in my stomach." George smiled sweetly, feeling a bit proud of how such simple words could make Dream turn a deep red. A deep red that he discovered through the touch of someone's lips to his forehead. No, not just someone. Dream.

_April 1942_

Despite George being oblivious and ignorant to his feelings, he still added it into his daily life to meet with Dream at the coffee shop. He had a hard time showing Dream how much he truly cared about their friendship in public, in case anyone saw and told his father- everyone knew everyone, there was no escaping it, no hiding. 

He didn't want to believe Dream could be his soulmate, solely for the fact that they were both males and he had undertones of homophobia due to how he was raised. Nonetheless, he liked having a friend, even if he wanted to give him full-body kisses and sit on his lap while Dream worked on his latest piece of art and George stared at his chiseled jawline, coming up with lyrics to describe the beauty set before him.

The entire war seemed to fade away the more time George spent with Dream. He wanted to spend every waking second with the blonde but could only muster a few hours a day to set aside from his work and family to spend with him. He would try to spend the mornings at the coffee shop with Dream, then maybe take a walk, go to the library or an art gallery before George and Dream both had to split off for work. 

Dream officially started making money for his work, just enough to pay for a living, and never failed to show George his art hanging in a galleria. George on the other hand wasn't doing as well in writing poetry as he wished, but he was offered a job at his parents to cook and clean for them five days a week. His family was rich, and they paid him well so he could still own a plot with a small-scale house and nice things- including a cat and a four-shelved library. 

Dream walked into the shop with his hands shoved in his slacks pockets. "George?"

"Dream!" George turned in his barstool and pushed a mug of coffee to his usual seat at the counter. "I paid today."

"I really appreciate it." Dreams voiced seemed rushed and nervous. "There's something-"

"Whats the sketch today?" George didnt mean to cut him off and felt instant remorse when he saw Dreams face droop. "My apologies- please continue."

"I actually thought we could change it a little today. I wrote the quote instead." Dream pulled the crinkled parchment paper out of his pocket and gave it to George. "I thought of it myself though."

"Okay." George carefully undid the paper, the ink was smeared and the handwriting wasn't fabulous- but Dream was an artist, not a writer.

_The beauty of the colors I can now see will never compare to your perfection._

_Will you take my hand and let us paint the world together?_

George looked up at Dream, a smile shivered onto his face. He was nervous and paranoid about what his father would scoff up if he saw that. "Can we take a walk?"

Dream and George walked to a park, sunny with altocumulus clouds all over the sky. Dream held out his hand, and George took it without hesitation. They walked in silence until they saw a bunch of flowers in different patches. 

"Will you pick flowers with me?" George looked up at Dream, although the embarrassment of him wanting to do something so feminine was raw.

"Out of all the flowers, George, I pick you."

George's heart sped up, and he couldn't help but smile at the ground, a patch of yellow flowers in a pod rhythm sitting neatly towards the blazing springtime sun catching his eye. "Yarrow achilleas. They represent lasting love and war. They're the color of your hair."

"Tell me more about them."

"They're perfect for drying and preserving."

"How interesting." Dream walked forward, George following, their hands still connected. Dream squatted down at a patch of light purple flowers in the shape of cotton balls. "Tell me about these."

George thought for a moment, trying to remember the research he did on the familiar flower. "Alliums. They symbolize unity, good fortune, and patience." 

"Hm." Dream smiled and stood up, then kept walking. "What's your favorite flower?"

"Roses, just simple red roses. They're for deep emotions and desires." George liked that Dream had an interest in almost everything George had to say, and even if he didnt, he still pretended that he did so George wouldn't feel like a burden.

Dream stopped walking and stood in front of George. "What are your deep desires?"

"I have quite a few that I didn't plan on telling anyone." George looked up at Dream, breath-taken by his eyes. Even though he'd seen them a million times before, each time he was still at a loss of words to describe how beautiful they were.

"You can tell me anything- Am I not your best friend? Your closest confidant?"

"You are- both of those. I desire to kiss you, now more than ever. To press your lips on mine as your hands hold me in a deep embrace on my waist. Is that so wrong?"

Dream slid his hands to George's waist and pulled his body closer to his so they were pressed together in a comfortable peace. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"Then will you kiss me?"

Dream leaned down and rested his lips on Georges. He smelt like parchment paper and old books, mixed with a satisfying aroma of coffee, and tasted sweet. The sun seemed to glow brighter, the feeling was warm and soft, like how George's lips felt on Dreams. He kept the kiss short and pulled away from George, although he loved how perfectly his body fit into his hands.

"What a feeling." George smiled, and subtly licked his bottom lip. "There is nothing in this world that makes me feel the way you do when you kiss me."

"I ask again: _Will you paint the world with me?"_

"It's such a sin to be with someone so gorgeous, and yet I'm not afraid to call you my lover." George smiled kindly and rested his hands on Dreams freckled face, cradling it like a Jasmine flower. Dream smiled back and kissed George's forehead. 

-

George sat at the dark brown, wooden dining table, head on across from his father. The tension in the air was suffocating, but George couldn't figure out what made it so cold. 

"George Henry." George's father's loud voice shocked George.

"Yes, sir?" George looked up from his plate and immediately felt a knot in his stomach.

"Didnt we have a talk in January about fags?"

"Yes, sir." Back in January, George knew the word was wrong, but a few months later, he was plain offended. "Please don't use that word."

"Suddenly you're offended by it?"

George glanced at his mother, and her head was down in embarrassment and disappointment. "No, sir."

"Good. If I am to even _hear_ about you and that boy again, you are no longer my son."

"It doesn't make sense- what if he's my soulmate?" George spooked himself with just the fact that he scraped up the audacity to talk back to his parents, let alone use a tone.

"He's not- boys don't go with boys." George's father stood and leaned on the table, George copying his movements.

"What if I love him?"

"You can't love someone who'd make you an embarrassment to society." His father's words sliced through George, a wound he wouldn't recover from easily.

The food on George's plate was suddenly sickening, and even the green of the peas that had reminded him of Dreams eyes were disgusting and flavorless. "Excuse me." George got up from the table and left the house. He walked to the park in the darkness of the April night air and stopped by the flower patches where he and Dream shared their first kiss just earlier that week. 

"White daffodils, the representation of new beginnings and rebirth." Dream came from behind George and put his hand on his shoulder. "We're gonna have a new beginning."

"My parents found out." George turned to Dream, and he felt emotionless. "My dad called me a fag." 

"Then we'll have to be sneakier." Dream flinched when George pressed his head onto his chest and wrapped his arms around him. "Everything is going to be okay."

"Dream, I love you."

_August 1942_

George felt utterly betrayed by the words ' _Everything is going to be okay._ ' 

Four months since he'd last seen his parents, four months of him truly believing that everything was going to be alright. In Dreams defense, those four months were okay. They were quite perfect, to say the least. Dream officially moved in with George, and they were both able to almost entirely pursue their passions- and each other. 

George felt somewhat safer holding hands with Dream in public, or doing subtle things, but at night when they were alone, they worshipped each other until they fell asleep holding each other in a sweaty mess. 

George had begun writing a book filled to the brim with poetry, and Dream had an entire wall reserved in a gallery for his art. They still visited the coffee shop every now and again, and every morning, Dream would leave a little sketch by the bathroom sink where he found a quote in return when he got home from work.

Everything was going as planned, until the last day in August when George got a letter from the local square regarding drafting soldiers for the next season of the war. 

Dream pushed George to his back onto the bed in a passionate kiss, his heart thudding in his chest. George pulled away and sat back up as soon as Dreams hands slid on his waist.

"Is everything okay, prince?" Dream sat back and held his arms in a surrender position, letting George know his hands were off and that he'd stopped. He had noticed once he got home from work that there was something on in George's mind, but he didnt volunteer any information so Dream let it be, hoping by intimate time, he would've let it go. The nerves hadn't subsided, and Dream desperately needed to know what was wrong with his lover.

"I got an alarming letter in the mail, Dream." George situated himself under the cream colored organic cotton sateen sheets and tugged his shirt off, fully revealing his slim body. 

"Oh? Did anything come for me?" Dream adjusted and lied next to George, so they made deep eye contact.

"It was addressed to both of us."

"You opened my mail?" Dreams tone rose, not much, but enough to scare George. "If it was for both of us, why wouldn't you be respectful and wait until I got home so we could discuss it together?"

"Please don't be mad for this just yet- it was from the square and my curiosity got the best of me, I truly apologize." George could feel himself starting to get nervous. 

"Well, what was it?" As Dream began to understand Georges paranoia, his voice went back to its usual calm state, relaxing George, but not easing his thoughts.

"I think one of us is going to get drafted this September."

"What?" Dream sat up, causing George to as well. 

"The- the letter-"

"Let me see it." Dreams voice was demanding, and George got out of the bed. He disappeared into the kitchen, coming back moments later with a white piece of folded paper in his hands. George handed it to Dream and watched his eyebrows knot together as he read it. 

" _Next month, three hundred soldiers will be drafted to join the force for World War II. It is not a choice if you are selected to get drafted- you must condone. If you are receiving this letter, a male in your household has been selected to join the force in September, and returning points will vary. Wishing you all the best of luck during these difficult times, and soldiers will meet at the pavilion on September first, 1943, at ten a.m sharp._ " 

Dreams heart dropped as he read it, and looked up at George, a rock in his throat. "George,"

"Dream is it going to be me? I'm older."

"I know as much as you, please don't ask me things that I clearly don't have the answers to." He knew George just needed something to settle his mind, but Dream, too, was stressing over the information just learned.

"I think I'm going to be sick." George thought about if Dream was drafted- the loneliness he'd feel. He was already so used to sleeping with someone and spending every waking moment clinging to him like a leech. 

"Okay, just take deep breaths. We'll know by tomorrow, right?"

"But then it's too late, Dream. We still have so much we need to do- this is going to be the last night at home for one of us, if not both."

Dream didnt want to think about how he'd feel if someone as small and fragile as George got sent to war, not to mention how much he was going to miss the little sounds hed make in his sleep, or the way he smiled at the ground after being complimented because he just couldn't bring himself to believe it. "I can't lose you."

George didnt want to go to war. He was afraid of guns and loud noises, but hed sacrifice himself if it would keep Dream at home safe. "I don't think ill be able to sleep tonight."

"Come here." Dream pulled George close to him, and they laid there in dead silence except for each other's gentle breathing. Dream rested his cheek on George's head and took a deep breath, the smell of his hair like coffee and ink. "Whoever it is, George, don't forget how much I love you."

"I love you too, Dream."

_September 1942_

At ten a.m sharp, Dream, George, and many other young adult men in the town were lined up at the pavilion. Dream subtly intertwined his pinkie finger with George's index, and they stood there, cold hands clasped together tightly, waiting for either of their names to be called. 

George looked up at Dream and brought his voice to a whisper. " _Tell me it's going to be okay. Tell me things will be how they were before yesterday."_

Dream looked down at the brunette and seeing his eyes beginning to gloss made him feel worse. " _I wish I could tell you that, love._ "

George's heart raced as the first man was called, then the second, and the third. Every name, his heartbeat grew quicker. The D's had all been called, and George's heart fell to his feet. He turned to look up at Dream, who had also noticed the pattern of the names being called- alphabetically by last name.

George felt his stomach turn over when he heard his boyfriend's name get called, and a barely noticeable tear ran down Dreams face.

" _Dream?"_ Georges heart cracked with his voice. " _There are so many adventures we haven't taken yet._ "

" _Don't worry, love. We'll get to do everything when I come home. We can travel the world- Id travel the world with you."_ Dream wasn't sure how he was maintaining a steady tone, he was falling apart on the inside.

_"We wasted our last night together-"_

_"I held you all night."_

_"We didnt even get a chance to make love for the last time."_ George lowered his voice, still humiliated about having intercourse with another male.

" _When I come home, ill treat you like a king, okay? I promise."_ Dream turned to face George and kissed his forehead as the new soldiers began doing the same with family members and significant others.

"Just stay." George was practically whining, the only difference was that he wasn't on his knees begging.

"You know I would if I had the option." Dream wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with George, holding him by the fire.

"Don't die on me, please."

"Remember, as long as you can see colors, you'll know I'm still here. I won't leave you." Dream embraced George in a hug, but it was unwelcoming as if he were holding a bag of bones.

-

George watched Dream hug his parents as they stood at the train station, and even in the beginning of September, it already felt freezing cold. 

"Make sure you write to us every chance you get." Dreams mother wiped a tear from her cheek and held Dreams shoulders. "Understand?"

"Of course, Mom." Dream looked past her to his father. "This is the legacy you wanted for me, is it not?"

"I'd rather you act like a real man instead of sitting around with a pencil all day." Dreams father's voice was rigid, and even George could tell he didn't approve of Dream doing anything unmanly- even drawing was too feminine for him.

Dream nodded, holding back tears behind his icy eyes. He pulled from his mother's grasp and walked to George, just looking at him made him even sadder. 

"Don't miss me too much." Dream smiled weakly as he said it, fearful that this would be their last time being face to face. 

"How am I supposed to not miss you? My world won't be by my side anymore." George's voice cracked, and his heart did also when he felt Dreams' hands slide to his waist.

"This isn't goodbye, it's just _see you later."_ Dream kissed George's forehead, tears slipping out of both of their beady eyes. 

" _Please have every soldier on the train by twelve p.m!"_ A booming voice shouted from the front of the train.

"That's in a few minutes." George didn't want this to be the last time he was able to hold Dream. He wanted to be able to see him every day and sleep with him every night. "Dream, darling, please don't leave me."

"I have to go, but I won't leave you. I won't." 

George's heart ached when Dream pressed his lips aggressively on his, grasping his waist as if this wasn't just a ' _see you later.'_

"I'll write to you every night, or whenever I can, I promise." Dream pulled away from George as the train whistled again.

"Will I see you again?" George grabbed Dreams hand as he turned to enter the train.

"Positively." Dream smiled sadly and smashed George in another hug. A strong hug, one that said _I'm not letting go, I just have to go for now._ He wanted to remember the smell of George's hair, the way his house and sheets smelt- like a mini library, old and fragile.

"Dream, I love you."

"I love you too, George." Dream kissed George's hand, and let go. George watched his lover board the train, his vision blurry with tears. As soon as he came, he left, like a piece of his life just walked away. 

George stood there in disbelief and flinched when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Dreams mother standing behind him, her eyes just as glazed as his. 

"Is he going to come back?" George asked, the rock in his throat moving with the vibrations.

"He's a fighter, I'm sure of it." She didn't sound sure.

_October 1942_

_Dream darling,_

_It's been a month since you left, and I can't begin to express how much I miss you. The nights seem so much longer without you holding me and they're cold. The house is so cold. I was so excited for our first Autumn together- raking leaves, baking pumpkin pie, and any other fall activity you'd like. I miss hearing your voice, it still echoes in my mind._

_Hows training? ~~Is it hard?~~ That's stupid- of course, it is. _

_I finally left the house today, I took a trip to the coffee shop. Boy, did that bring me nostalgia? It smelt like you in there. I think I'm going to go to the art gallery and stare at your work until they close._

_I wish you well, and I'm afraid I'm at a loss for words right now, even though I have so many feelings. Maybe ill send another letter if I can think of things to say. When you send yours, remind me everything will be okay and that I'll see your freckled face again soon?_

_I miss you more than I know how to say._

_Your faraway lover,_

_George._

On George's walk back from the post office, he did as he said he would- go to the art gallery. 

He pushed the heavy door open, and memories flooded back from all the times Dream would excitedly grab George's hand and drag him throughout the building until they had admired every single piece of art.

He smiled sadly and walked past the other art straight to Dreams section. The last time George was there, Dream barely had any work, but now the whole wall was nearly filled. He looked at the new pieces and noticed one of a flower. It was titled ' _Roses, Just Simple Red Roses._ ' The painting was of a red rose, in the hand of a man. Although the hand was small and slim, he could tell whose hand it was- his own. The rose didn't have thorns on the stem, allowing the man to be holding the flower with delicacy. 

George smiled when he saw it, tears welling in his eyes. Dream had an art style that was so beautiful, so satisfying, George could practically see him stroking the brush along the paper. He had watched Dream at work a couple of times, always so impressed with how smoothly the paint rolled off the brushes. George was jealous, he knew he could never create something as beautiful, but never failed to be proud of his boyfriend's accomplishments.

George spent the rest of the day staring at that painting, wishing they could go back to a day at the park and pick flowers again. When the sun was beginning to set and the gallery was emptying, George was asked to leave, so he opened the building door and began to walk home. His attention was hooked on some yarrow achilleas, and he walked over to them and squatted down to inspect them better, remembering back on their day in the park. He pulled some out of the ground and continued his walk home. 

_Dear George,_

_I also miss you more than I can describe- you know I'm not good with words._ _Training has been absolutely exhausting- I'm ready to come home. It's sickening how much we have to run, and I have gunpowder stuck in my hair. The guns are loud, and the knockback has given me bruises on my shoulders, arms, and cheeks. It smells like sweat and ash here, and I miss sitting by the fire with you. Don't worry, my love, I'll come home for you._

_I think baking a pie together would be a lot of fun, but I don't think ill be home in the right season for pumpkin. There are a bunch of other flavors though! What's your favorite? Mines apple and I know a really good recipe from my mom. You should ask her about it- I think it would be a good bonding activity for you guys._

_Next time you take a trip to the coffee shop, buy a cup of joe for me, please? Thanks for thinking about my artwork, I forgot to tell you about all my new paintings. I named one of them after what you told me when I asked what your favorite flower was. I'm sure you'll know when you see it._

_My love, everything will be okay, and you'll see me again soon. I'm sorry the house is so cold without me, I assure you it's colder here though. I can't wait to hold you again, I'm so lonely without you. I'll write to you as soon as I get your next letter._

_I love you to eternity and back,_

_Dream._

George smiled sadly as he read Dreams letter. He could hear his lover's voice in this head as he read it, and it pained him to think about Dream coming home and smelling like cigarettes and acid instead of oil paints and fresh canvas's. 

George set the paper down, and decided before he wrote back, he wanted to go to Dreams parents' house and bake an apple pie with his mother. He put on Dreams forest green knitted sweater and set out to his parents.

He knew coming over uninvited was hasty and rude, but he couldn't think right with the insomniac nights he was having. George knocked on the door, and Dreams' mother smiled widely when she saw him.

"George, welcome in." Dreams mother stepped to the side, and George smiled politely as he walked in. 

"Sorry for such short notice, I got a letter from Dream saying you have a recipe for an apple pie and I wanted to try it before writing him back." George and Dreams mother walked to the kitchen, and she pulled out a wooden, black cherry colored box from a cabinet- it had a cherry blossom tree painted on the top.

"Dream loved apple pie when he was a child. He'd beg me to make it every weekend." She pulled out a piece of yellow parchment paper with small cursive writing. 

"Did you paint that cherry blossom?" George asked, impressed with the steady handiwork on the top of the small recipe box.

"No, no, I wish I were artistic. This box was given to me by Dream when he was about eleven."

"He was eleven when he painted that?"

"He's always been so talented." 

George smiled, feeling a bit proud that he was with someone so incredible. "Wow."

"Here's the recipe." Dreams mother handed George the yellow paper.

"Dream thought it would be a good idea for us to make it together." George read the recipe, it had smeared applesauce and melted brown sugar on it.

"Well, I guess we should do it together, then?"

As the pie was baking, George and his boyfriends' mother were sitting at the table.

"Have you guys heard from him?" George was sad that he only had one letter from Dream so far, even though it hadn't even been two months since his departure. 

"Only once."

"Me as well. I hope he makes it."

"I do too. He's so strong, even though he took up such a delicate hobby." Dreams mother messed with her wedding ring that she had set on the table so she wouldn't bake it with the pie.

"I miss him more than anything."

"I'm sure you do- you know him better than his own mother knows him." 

"How was he as a child? was he obedient, respectful?" George smiled when Dreams mother let out a laugh.

"Quite the opposite, but id take his attitude over his absence." 

"He is a bit sassy, isn't he?" George giggled, and couldn't help but feel his heart ache. "I fucking miss him- excuse my language, please." Immediate embarrassment took over- George hardly ever used language, especially around folks younger or older than him.

"were all in a bad place." Dreams mother stood as the oven dinged, the kitchen already smelling like crispy sugar topping and warm apple soup.

George turned in the chair to watch the pie emerge from the oven, steam coming with it. "It looks amazing."

"You can have the whole thing if you'd like- as long as you save a slice for me." 

George got up and walked next to Dreams mother as she cut the pie down the middle and then creating a triangle for herself. She put her slice on a plate, then wrapped the rest of the pie in cling wrap in the foil pie tray.

"Thank you so much for helping me with this." George held the pie as he and Dreams' mother walked towards the front door. 

"no, _thank you_." Dreams mother gave George a short hug before he walked out of the warm house and into the cold. 

_Dream darling,_

_the pie was absolutely wonderful. Your mother and I made it together, and apparently, you were a troublemaker as a child? I can't say I'm surprised. You always seemed rebellious._

_I didn't know you were an artist as a youngster. You painted such a gorgeous tree on that recipe box your mom has. I'd love to know where your talent comes from. Father?_

_Anyways, my favorite kind of pie used to be cherry, but now it's apple as well. Seems like I'm attracted to red things? Weird._

_Remember when I told you yarrow achilleas were good for drying and preserving? Well, I saw some on my way home from the art gallery, and I decided to try it for myself. I used two books to smash the flower against two pieces of parchment paper, and that did the trick. I'm sure you've already seen them since they were tied to the letter, but I just wanted to tell you about how I did it. Speaking of the art gallery, I absolutely adore your painting 'Roses, Just Simple Red Roses.'_

_Is that the one you didn't want to tell me about when you said you stayed late at work to finish it? It's very beautiful. I liked how the rose didn't have thorns so the person holding it wouldn't get hurt when they touched it._

_I keep wearing your clothes, I'm afraid once I get through all of them, they'll stop smelling like you. What will I have left once all your clothes smell like me? I know it's unsanitary, but I absolutely refuse to wash the bedsheets. I've started to hold your pillow and pretend it's you- is that weird? Well, whatever it is, it's finally helping me get a few hours of sleep. Many of my nights have grown restless, and I can't sleep without chugging down about seven cups of tea._

_Please come home soon, baby._

_-George_

_November 1942_

_Dear George,_

_I'm so glad you liked the pie- my mouth is watering just thinking about it. I hope my mom didn't tell you anything too embarrassing about my childhood- I did a lot of things without thinking first. The cherry blossom was pained such a long time ago, and it was one of my most prized pieces as a child. I gave it to my mom after garnishing it with a glaze about forty times. I'm really happy you got to see it- I thought you never would._

_Red things are so pretty- ~~as I said what seems like a million years ago, "maroon is such a romantic color."~~ Maroon is a shade of red if I'm not mistaken, right? Now I feel dumb. Ignore that. _

_I keep the flowers in a special place by my bed- well, it's more like a mat. Either way, it feels like a piece of home is by my side while I sleep. I'm proud of you for finding a creative way to preserve the flowers- I don't think I would've thought of that. There are no flowers by the battlefield._

_Yes, that is, in fact, the painting I didn't want to tell you about when I would stay at work late at night. Not sure if it's obvious, but that was meant to be your hand. I might edit it a little when I come home- I'm sure it won't be as good as I remember it._

_I don't think it's weird at all that you hold a pillow and pretend it's me- if I had an extra pillow here, id do the same. I can't wait until you don't need to hold the pillow anymore and you can hold me instead. I'll be home soon, baby._

_Tell me a quote about missing someone- my nights have been just as restless. I've been nervous about my first time in an actual battle happening next week- training wasn't even two months long and they already think we're ready to get thrown into the war. Wish me luck._

_Xoxo,_

_Dream_

Dreams heart pounded in his chest as he held his sniper in cold hands. He just felt crummy altogether. None of these soldiers from either team wanted to be there, and yet one way or another, they would lose their life. 

Dream thought about how many of them also had someone waiting for them at home- whether it was a significant other or family. He felt sickened with himself as he would be the reason some of these men wouldn't return home to their persons. 

A gunshot was fired, and Dream, along with many other soldiers, crouched in the trench. He pointed his gun at an opposing soldier and whispered _im sorry_ before ending their life with a bullet to the head. Dream felt almost bad for his aim being so exact, and even in training, he never missed a shot, making him one of his team's strongest soldiers. 

The air was so cold, and yet, sweat was dripping down his back and forehead. He wanted to go home, he wanted to lay in bed with George, but instead, he was being a murderer- an absolute monster to people who were forced out of their homes to do the exact thing he was doing. He felt like he couldn't breathe as he aimed again at another man, and they made sad eye contact before Dream pulled the trigger, a hole forming in the opponent's shoulder as he fell to the ground. 

Dream wanted to be anywhere but on a battlefield, and he and another soldier from his team ran to the other side of the field after climbing out of the trench. 

"What's the plan?" The shorter soldier made nervous eye contact with Dream.

"I- I don't know. You watch my back, ill watch yours, okay?" Dream turned around and heard a series of gunshots behind him. 

"Got you." The soldiers' body heat was rising. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Dream, you?"

"Punz."

"Weird name."

"Dream as well."

Dream heard a gunshot, and before he could think, a piercing pain shot through his calf. He moaned in agony and turned to Punz. "You were supposed to watch my goddamn back."

"No one is there, Dream." 

Dream clenched his teeth and scrunched his eyebrows as he turned in Punzs direction and shakily shot a man peeking from behind a tree. "God, fuck- you couldn't see him, Punz?"

"He's wearing camo-"

Dream groaned again and held his leg. "Were all wearing goddamn camo."

Punz shot at another man, and took off his jacket, pressing it on Dreams leg. "I'm so sorry, bullets to the calf are the worst."

"Fuck." Dream knew this wasn't the end, but the pain in his leg made it feel like it would be. "Just bring me to the infirmary." 

As directed, Punz helped Dream up and lead him to the edge of the battlefield where many other soldiers from their team were lying, injured. 

"What's this?" One of the nurses sat by Dreams leg and started pressing on it with her hand.

"What does it fucking look like?" Dream never used language with dames, especially in times where she was to help him, but he couldn't control his mouth, definitely not with the pain sheering through his body. "My apologies- I took a bullet to the leg."

"Okay, is the bullet still in it?"

"I'm not sure." Thinking about the metal being stuck in his leg nauseated him and sweat rolled down his back when the jacket was lifted, blood oozing out of the hole. " _Fuck._ "

The nurse understood how much pain Dream was in as she pressed the area around the hole. "It's still in there, this is going to hurt."

_Dream darling,_

_I wish you the best of luck on the battlefield. I know it must be nerve-racking to have your life on the line at all times when out there. I'm nervous for you._

_I don't think even a year's worth of training can get someone prepared for what you're about to do. It takes a very brave man to go out there. You're very brave._

_It's almost December but Christmas just won't be the same without you. ~~I can't believe I'm going to have to have a Christmas by a fire and you'll be having it on a field with a rifle.~~ That was so insensitive- I'm so sorry. I should just start over, I don't want you to read that. .._ _Well, it turns out this is my last piece of parchment and I can't wait a whole nother day to write you._

_I'm really glad you liked the flowers, should I send more? You're the creative one, what do you mean 'i would've never have thought of that'?_

_A quote about missing someone? Which do I choose?_

_"That's why I'm sitting here with you. Because you remind me of you. Your eyes, your throat, your lips. Everything about you reminds me of you." This is from Night at the Opera, though, not a poem. I still think it's a good quote and everything does remind me of you, even when you're so far away._

_I'd still love you, even if you came back without a single limb, I hope you know. I just miss you so much. I think Luca misses you too, he's started sleeping on your side of the bed and meowing when I light the fire. As it gets colder outside, it gets colder in the house. I just want your arms around me._

_When you get back, let's take a bath together? We only did that a few times but I can't run a bath without wishing you could join._

_I know I gave you yarrows last time, but here they are again, just in case. Don't worry, I'll find a different type of flower next time, what would you like? I'll do a bit of research and find one that I think you'd really like. Maroon is a shade of red, you're not dumb. Colors still confuse me sometimes too._

_I miss the taste of your lips. You usually tasted like coffee and I miss that a lot. I miss our intimacy- I'm starting to go insane. ~~Dream, would you be upset if I touched myself?~~ Is that a super weird thing to ask in a letter? This one is all messed up- I can't think right at all anymore. Maybe ill go to the park and pick some flowers. I could use some fresh air. My heart is aching, but still beating for you. _

_Your nearly-insane boyfriend,_

_George_

George stood up from his desk and left his office. He walked out the front door and into the cold night. 

After dropping off Dreams letter in the mail, he went to the park. Even in the night, he could decipher the different flowers. 

_December 1942_

_George,_

_you make me giggle._

_I love the flowers, I'll keep them by my bed with the rest of them._

_I'm starting to go a bit insane as well. Not just in a sexual context, but I feel like a murderer. None of these men want to be here either, and yet I have to end their life because.. well, I'm not even sure. I want to come home. I want to bathe with you and sit by the fire with you and Luca._

_Why would I be upset if you touched yourself? You're suddenly deprived, I don't imagine why you think id be upset. It does make me a bit jealous that you have the option, though. Were watched almost 24 / 7, there's no way id have enough private time. Don't be embarrassed to ask anything like that, okay? I want you to be comfortable asking me things._

_I took a bullet to the leg last month, and it was stuck inside so a nurse had to dig it out. I don't think id ever felt more pain in my life. It was such a bad feeling, I wanted to just end it all. I knew I couldn't though, there's no way I could leave you over a shot in the calf. I can still walk, much better now. I'm back in training, and now they're being much harder on me, even though this other soldier, Punz, was the reason I was shot, to begin with. Well, I wish I could put the blame on him, but I guess I should've been watching my own back instead of relying on someone else._

_I want you to bake chocolate chip cookies for me on Christmas, okay? That's my favorite kind of cookie, and I want you to enjoy them on a special day. I'll figure out something to do that'll remind me of you. Maybe ill sneak out of camp and pick some flowers- if I can find any._

_Luca's sleeping on my side of the bed now? Man, where will I sleep when I come back? As if I could move the prince. I miss him almost as much as I miss you, give him lots of kisses for me._

_If you can find any, bring me a flower that represents something special, like love, or a good future. You said something about a flower bringing fortune, right? I can't remember what they're called though._

_Why do you feel so brain-dead? Are you not getting any sleep? I wish I could come home and hold you, what a good nights sleep we would both have, right? I, too, haven't been sleeping. I miss your touch, your lips, your smile, your smell. I miss it all. Getting home and worshipping you- treating you like a king- is such a dream. That reminds me, I had a dream about you. I hate to keep you in suspense, but I'm out of paper as well._

_I wish I had something that smelt like you._

_Your sad, cold boyfriend,_

_Dream_

_Dream darling,_

_you didn't have to sign off like that, you sound like a dog at the pound. I miss you a bunch and that made me so sad :(_

_Anyways, those flowers were called alliums. The pink ones that look like spikey balls. I went to look for them at the park, but they had all perished due to the cold. Although I did find some purple violas, that represent everlasting love. I think our love is everlasting, despite the distance._

_A bullet to the calf? That sounds awful just thinking about it! I'm glad they didn't have to amputate your leg, that would've been even worse. Why would they already throw you back on in training? you got shot and they're already making you run? That's messed up- it makes me sad how you have to go through all this when it's not under your control._

_Dream, you're not a monster for doing what you're meant to do. I absolutely promise you that you're not evil for killing those men. It's inhumane, ill agree, but you're not a villain._

_Chocolate chip cookies have always been an all-time favorite of mine, and I'm so glad you love them as much as I do. I'll be sure to make them for us. Tell me more about your favorite things, I love knowing more about you._

_I think a lot of my insanity is coming from lack of touch. I used to be held every single night, all night, and suddenly, without warning, I'm entirely deprived. I'm also starting to seep into s depression, I have yet to even write a single poem in my book since you left and it's meant to be published in less than six months. I've been spending a lot of time in bed, and sometimes I forget to brush my teeth and shower._

_Sorry that this one is so short, I'm suddenly at a loss for words. Please come home soon, I can't take this anymore._

_George_

_P.S. tell me about your dream!_

_January 1943_

George looked up from his pillow as he heard a subtle knock on his front door. He groaned and wiped his eyes before getting out of bed to see who had paid him an uninvited visit. He opened the front door, and immediately wished he would've ignored the noise and stayed in bed when he saw his parents standing in the doorway.

"George," His mother started "how have you been?"

George ran his hands through his messed hair in embarrassment and stepped to the side. "Please come in, the cold airs coming inside."

It had been eight months since the last time he spoke a word to his parents, and he wasn't mentally prepared to have a conversation with them just yet.

"It's quite a mess in here." Georges father was the first to speak when they were settled in Dream and Georges living room with warm tea. 

"I haven't been very well lately." George tried to use a respectful tone, and his heart broke when he saw his cat emerge from the bedroom to see if Dream was the one at the door.

"Whys that?" His mother questioned.

"My lover has been sent to fight in the war." George lowered his voice, and even though he knew his parents would make a snarky comment, he was still comfortable enough to come out to them.

"That blonde boy Sr. Comlet saw you with last April?"

"Yes, ma'am." 

"When is his return?"

"Were unsure. He's been gone for five months now, I can barely get out of bed."

"Well, pull yourself together. Your mother and I have someplace we'd like to take you next month, and you cant look like such a disarray." George's father stepped in, his harsh voice made George flinch in his chair.

"Yes, sir." George was ready to go back into a deep sleep, away from his thoughts, away from how much he missed Dream.

"Very good. See you next February." With that, George's parents left their mugs by the couch and left his house.

"You could clean up after yourself." George picked up his parents' ceramic cups and placed them in the sink. He looked around his home, realizing he had absolutely no room to talk about not cleaning.

George yawned and trudged to his bed and fell onto the mattress. He inhaled deeply and grabbed Dreams' pillow. He held onto it and pressed his face onto it. 

" _I miss you so much. Please come home soon._ " George let out a sigh, burrowing his eyebrows as he started crying into the pillow. 

_George,_

_Don't miss me too much. I know it's been a long five months, but you have to keep pushing. I'm going to come home but I need someone to return to. Always remember that you're loved and I'm doing everything in my power to make sure I get back to you safely._

_My dream was pretty simple, I came home and hugged you so tightly, and I kissed you everywhere you could imagine, and then, right before you unbuttoned your shirt, I woke up in tears. Literal tears. I've never done that before, it was awful waking up. I miss you a lot, baby._

_I have another official battle tomorrow, and I know you won't get this for a few weeks but I'd still appreciate some luck._

_The flowers were so beautiful, and I'm excited to see the alliums in spring. Did you realize it's been a whole year since we met? It seems like a fever dream. Well, lately it's been quite a nightmare, but we'll wake up soon, and then I'll be happy I woke up. I can't wait to wake up._

_speaking of which, you have to start getting active again. Don't fall into a depression because you miss me, I'll be home before you know it. George, my love, if you're having a bit of writer's block, here are some topics you could write about: missing someone, flowers, seasons, the beach, sleep, dreams, nightmares, reality, rain, tea, Cat, warmth, fire, rebirth._

_I hope that helped. To get your creativity flowing, you should write me a poem. About anything. Remember the first one you wrote about me? I have it memorized. "Dream, darling." I_ _like that._

_Hey, please brush your teeth and wash your hair today! It's super important to stay on top of that, even at camp we still clean ourselves every night and every morning. Also, have a good meal today. I'm not sure what time of day you'll receive this, but go eat if you haven't already. You deserve dinner, or lunch, or breakfast._

_A few of my favorite things are knitted sweaters, roses, coffee, rainbows after a storm, vanilla extract, hot chili on cold days, tomato soup, blankets, hugs, sugar cookies, sprinkles, the smell of baby powder, cats, the color green, koi fish, and rings. How about you?_

_Tell me about your day, please! :)_

_Your lover,_

_Dream darling_

_February 1943_

Dream woke in a shiver, his hands shaking and legs queasy. He sat up in reflex, his pillow drenched in sweat, tears spilling from his eyes. He looked to his left, then his right, realizing he was only dreaming about George laying by his side. 

He climbed down from his bunk and slipped out the building window, climbing down the water pipe to safely get to the ground. Once his feet landed on the grassy earth, he started walking into the forest behind camp. 

As the night grew colder, he held his arms to his chest to keep himself warm. "George." He called to himself, feeling idiotic at first. "I miss you so much." 

"Whos there?" An unrecognizable voice filled Dreams ears from deeper in the forest.

Dream stopped walking and looked around frantically. Despite whether it was someone from his camp or not, he wasn't meant to be up this late and wandering around, especially not in a forest near another base.

"I said 'whos there?'"

"Dream, sir." Dreams heart skipped a beat when he heard a gunshot in the near distance. "I was just going on a walk to clear my head."

"Dream?"

"Yes, sir." 

The disembodied voice emerged from the shadows, a buff man with a rifle in his arms. "You're not from this base."

"No, sir." Dream already knew he was in trouble, he was unarmed and vulnerable.

"This isn't your territory then, is it?"

Dream paused, he hadn't realized where the borders were in between campsites. For all he knew, this man could be in _his_ territory.

" _Is it?_ "

"No, sir." Dream let him have it out of pure fear. He didnt want to start up a fight, knowing he'd surely lose against a man with a gun.

"Then I'm going to have to kill you."

"Wait, sir, please, I was just going for a walk I didnt mean to cause trouble." Dreams heart sped faster than it ever had when he heard the rifle click. 

"You have five seconds to dodge my aim."

Dream turned around and immediately began running for his life, knowing there was no possible way he could outrun a bullet. After five seconds, he heard the trigger release with a gunshot.

_Dream darling,_

_I ate today, just for you. Thank you for reminding me, I had forgotten the last few days. I also brushed my teeth and took a bath. You're such an inspiration for telling me to take care of myself. I also cleaned the house a little and went to the store to pick up a few things to cook into a special stew I really like. I'll make it for you when you get back, I think you'll like it a lot._

_The list of your favorites will come to such good use when you come home, I'll be sure to make you your favorite foods._

_Dream, my day today was the most active day I've had in such a long time. I made the bed this morning, then went straight to the mailbox, read your letter, ate breakfast, took a bath, brushed my teeth, went to the supermarket and the park to pick some flowers, began cooking the stew, and now I'm writing to you. It's only six pm, but I couldn't wait until the very end of the day to write back._

_My parents told me they want to take me somewhere next week, so we'll see how that goes._

_Good luck on the battlefield! I'm sending my best wishes, please be safe. Well, I guess there's really no way to stay safe in that situation, but I want you to be strong, come home to me._

_I couldn't think of a poem yet, but in my next letter, I'll surely have one for you. Oh, and the alliums are starting to grow! I love spring, watching the plants start to blossom. Here are peonies, right when I heard you needed some luck, I thought of these flowers, not to mention how absolutely beautiful they are when dried._

_Don't worry, baby, someday your dream will be a reality. I'll hold you so tightly and make you feel loved- because you are. I've had a few vivid dreams like yours as well, waking up in tears, holding your pillow, and realizing it's not you. Speaking of which, your pillow is starting to lose your scent, and it's making me aggravated._

_Don't die on me, my dear_

_-George_

George knocked on his parents' door, and his mother answered, her coat and scarf on.

"It's still so chilly out, even in February." Georges mom stepped outside and held her arms to her chest.

"It's not really that cold." George had just walked from his house to his parents, maybe it was the excessive exercise, but it was definitely not scarf-and-coat weather. 

"George Henry, today, we would like to have a talk with you about that blonde boy. Your mother and I have been wanting to discuss it with you, but you never come by anymore." Georges' father stepped out of the house with his wife, and they began walking along the concrete. 

"His name is Dream." George used a bit of a tone, expressing the importance of needing his parents to refer to him by his name, not as if he were some stranger.

"You need to stop conversing with him if you want to be my son."

"What?" George stopped walking in shock, and his parents turned to look at him. "You're going to disown me for being gay?"

"I want grandchildren, you're of an age where you're meant to already have a wife and children."

"Father, I don't even want babies. Dream is my soulmate- I can see colors now." George's throat closed as he spoke, the choice between his parents and Dream was easy- but if Dream were to die in the war, he'd have nobody.

"Then you are no longer my son. I didnt raise a faggot."

The rage George had boiling in his stomach began to give him a headache. "Mom?"

"I don't want a gay son, George." Although his mother said the words, her tone was sad, almost as if she were forced to tell him that while thinking otherwise. 

George stared at the ground, feeling like sinking into it. "Then I guess this is goodbye."

_March 1943_

_Dear Dream,_

_It's been a while since I've heard from you, are you okay? You usually write back by now._

_Maybe my other letter got lost?_

_Either way, the energy I had last month has completely dissolved. My parents disowned me because somehow, they found out you and I are still together. The company that was meant to publish my book told me they weren't interested anymore because I took too long writing, I miss you more than ever, I think Luca's getting sick because he's losing a bunch of weight and is refusing to eat. Me and him both, I guess._

_I hope this gets back to you, I love you bunches and hope you're okay._

_George_

_April 1943_

_Dream,_

_Are you okay? I haven't heard from you in two or three months. I'm starting to believe something bad has happened to you._

_I've checked the mail every day, the only reason I've left the bed. I still haven't washed the sheets. I know, it is disgusting, I just can't bring myself to wash off the smell of you._

_Today you have red carnations. These represent admiration and missing someone. I admire and miss you. Please come home, Dream. Please. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to sleep with. I don't want anyone else- just you._

_I noticed that I couldn't see the color of the carnations today, I picked them just yesterday. What does that mean? Does that mean you're hurt? Please at least write back, tell me you love me. I need to know if you're still with me, baby. I'm sure you are, you're so strong- such a fighter. You're trained for this, right? You worked hard for this, to serve your country, right?_

_Please answer me, I don't know how else to reach you Please, my darling._

_I'll love you and miss you forever until you're safely in my arms._

_George_

George shoved his hands in his slacks pockets as he walked to the park from the post office. He walked to the patch of flowers where he and Dream shared their first kiss, then wiped his eye before the tear was able to slip down his cheek. Secretly wanting to make himself more emotional, just to feel something, he made his way down the street to the coffee shop. 

He pushed open the iron door, the same one he did last year, the iron door that opened his pathway to Dream. He walked over to the counter and sat at a barstool. 

"Good afternoon, It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The same waitress stood behind the counter in front of George, and he looked up at her with sad eyes.

"It has been."

"Wheres your friend?"

George winced at 'friend.' "He's been sent to war."

The waitress's jaw dropped just enough for George to see her tongue, no more, no less. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I miss him a lot." George's throat tightened as he said it, and he couldn't handle how much the shop smelt like his faraway boyfriend. "I actually don't think I brought change, I apologize for the inconvenience."

"Oh, that's okay. See you soon?"

George was repeating the word _no_ over and over in his head as he stood up and walked to the door. "Maybe."

_May 1943_

_Dream darling,_

_It's been four months. Four months since I've last heard from you. The world keeps losing vibrance every day, does this mean you're.. dead? I hope that's not the case, Dream. You promised me it wasn't goodbye, remember? You said it was just 'see you later'? You told me you'd come home. I miss you so much, it physically hurts. I've made myself sick over this, baby._

_I need to hear from you, okay? If it's not goodbye, tell me. Tell me you love me? I've been re-reading your old letters just to hear your voice in my head. Your boss from the art gallery came by today and dropped off all your work, he said the wall needed to be vacant for a new struggling artist. You have to come home, you need to hold me again. Just send a letter, let me know you're out there, and you're not dead, please._

_Speaking of death, Luca passed away a couple of weeks ago, the house just feels dead., like I'm not alive either. I'm so scared that you will never touch me again. I miss you, I miss Luca, shit, I even miss my parents sometimes. Once I think I hit rock bottom, I just stoop even lower. I'm just sleeping all the time- all day, and then I'm awake all night, reading, crying, holding the pillow version of you, just feeling my heart tugging at my chest._

_I would've attached flowers to this letter, but I can no longer see the colors of them, making them utterly ugly and useless. I have so much anger built up from how sad I am due to your absence. What was it you told me that one time when you finally answered why you wouldn't show up to the shop all those moons ago? 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Well, I'm fond of you, you can stop being absent now, please?_

_Send something, a letter, a flower, dirt, a bullet, anything. Anything. I need to know you're alive, please._

_George_

_George,_

_Hi, this is Punz, a friend of Dreams. I'm sorry to tell you he's unable to answer right now, and I haven't seen him around camp in months. I think our chief is the only person here who is aware of where he disappeared to._

_On the bright side, this does not mean he's deceased, he could be sent back home, or drafted to another camp. If I were you, I'd keep around the train station, but don't get your hopes up, there could be a chance he's gone. No, I haven't exactly been reading the letters you've been sending, I respect the privacy, but you've been sending so many I figured I might as well update you on the whereabouts of Dream._

_Anyways, that's all I'm aware of as of right now, but if anything comes up, I'll be sure to send another letter. I wouldn't suggest sending anything else to him, for it blocks up the mail for other soldiers trying to reach their families and friends as well._

_I wish you the best of luck, I hope he comes home soon._

_Punz_

_P.s. don't reply to this either_

_June 1943_

George woke in a sweat, his stomach cramping in knots. He held his torso and took deep breaths, desperate to calm himself down. The pain refused to subside, and tears streamed down his cheeks. He reached to the other side of the bed and grabbed Dreams pillow. He held onto it, squeezing it tightly. 

"Dream, tell me it's gonna be okay." George gasped in agony and took even longer breaths. He inhaled deeply, the faded smell of Dream filling his lungs, relaxing his aching. "Tell me you love me."

He lied there, his stomach bunched in a bouquet of pain, reciting the last moments he had with his lover. The last hug, the last kiss, the last time he felt his warm fingers intertwined with his own. The tears rolling down his cheek made his stomachache worse but he couldn't help taking exaggerated breaths in the dead of the night. 

"This hurts so much, please come home."

_September 1943_

It had been officially four months since George sent the last letter, seven months since he'd last heard from Dream, a year since he'd been drafted, a year and seven months since they first met.

Every day, the world got dimmer and dimmer, with every thought of Dream being dead. It didn't get easier, at all- none of it did. It only seemed to get harder on George, no matter how he coped. 

George walked to the pavilion where Dreams name was called- the moment they knew their lives would change forever. The air felt the same as it did last year, the wind was still chilly even in the fall. 

He had yet to stop by the train station, even though Punz suggested it. He figured if Dream came home, he'd go straight to the house. It was selfish, George not wanting to spend his days waiting for someone who wouldn't arrive, but he didn't feel like wasting his time on it. He decided that since he already knew Dream wasn't coming, he'd take a walk to the station anyway.

George made himself comfortable on a wooden bench in Dreams dark green knitted sweater that was now a nasty shade of grey. He sat there waiting, other people coming and going, and he just sat there. The sun was beginning to set, and the night was getting chillier. 

"Dream, I thought it was just 'see you later.'" George said to himself as he stood up from the bench and started walking through the ash-covered world. "The worlds caving in on me."

George walked past the coffee shop, and his heart stopped when he saw himself and Dream sitting at the counter, laughing, touching, drawing, drinking coffee, only to realize it was another couple of young men. George stood by the window and watched the two men giggling, not knowing how it feels to miss someone to the point of insanity. He wished he was in there with the love of his life, but he wasn't. He was standing in the cold night, the cold, black and white world. He knew how it felt to be so sad, tired, queasy. It was exhausting. 

With a sigh of defeat, he followed the sidewalk back to his house. He unlocked the door, the smell of musty tea and coffee filling the air. He missed when he'd come home from work and it would smell like fresh paper and ink and he would tiredly walk into the bathroom to find a drawing left by Dream, a warm shower running. 

George, like a routine now, went into the kitchen to make hot lavender tea, then collapsed into the empty bed. He stared at the dark ceiling, tears in his eyes. "What's the point anymore, darling?" He thought about what Dream would reply to that with. ' _It doesn't matter if you can't see the light right now, baby, you have to keep pushing. There will always be a rainbow after a storm, even if it's not as visible. Don't give up- Heaven isn't ready for you yet.'_ The tears flowed down his cheeks without a restriction, just hearing Dreams voice in his head was enough to send him into an emotional hole. 

"I love you, why would you leave me? Why?" George wasn't even certain if Dream was dead, but he was tired of living on false hope. He desired closure, he needed to know that Dream was alive for sure before there was a thought in his mind telling him otherwise. George sat up and wiped his face, and grabbed a notebook from his side-table, along with a feather and ink.

_Dream darling,_

_I know you're still here. You're still here, right? The world is grey and black, but I know you're here._

~~_Dream, I think I'm going to consider suicide._ ~~ _I don't know what I'm thinking- that should always be a last resort. How much longer do you want me to wait on you, though? I'll wait until the end of time if you need that long, just tell me._

_I'm going to get some rest, and even though there's no way I can reach you through this, I love you. I'll always love you._

_George_

_December 1943_

_Dream darling,_

_I'm starting to lose hope. I guess I'm starting to lose my last bit of hope. This is such a tragedy- we're absolutely tragic._

_-George_

_January 1944_

George felt like he needed fresh air from the musty sheets and pillowcases that he still had yet to wash, even though Dreams scent had entirely disappeared. He went outside, the freezing air making his nose runny. This winter had been white, several feet of snow caked the ground in a glistening bliss, but even with the powder all around him, George still felt disconnected from happiness. 

Having nowhere to go, he took a trip to the train station. After brushed snow off the wooden bench with his gloves, he sat down and opened _Serenade_. The first thing of color he'd ever seen. The spine of the book still had a dent from when he threw it against his bathroom wall, and he carefully ran his finger over it. "I'd give anything to see the warmth of the pink again."

He sat at the station until the sun was down and he couldn't feel his fingers or toes. He stood and started his walk back home. When he got to the front of his house, he stood there and watched it. 

Smoke was coming from the chimney, the porch lights were on and a Christmas tree was shining from the window. There was a small snowman on the front yard, and he heard faint giggling and shrieking in laughter from inside. As a smile crept along George's face, he made the mistake of blinking, and suddenly the house had a dark and empty feeling. All the happiness he'd felt for the first time in years was instantly gone. 

He walked to the front door and opened it, the house was cold. 

"How long do I wait, Dream?" 

_Spring 1944_

George knocked on Dreams's parent's door, and his mother answered almost immediately. 

"George, what a nice surprise." She smiled sadly, and George knew Dream was on her mind as well.

"Hello, how are you holding up?" George walked inside as he was welcomed in, and he sat at the kitchen table from so long ago. 

"We all miss him so much." 

George already knew who she was talking about. "You don't think he's dead, right?"

Dreams mother's face fell, her eyes glazing. "We've come to a point where we think he's gone."

"Oh." Hearing that even Dreams' mother thought he was dead sent George into a panic. "I don't think he's dead, he promised me he'd see me later."

"You'll be with him again, later, even if he's passed."

"I don't want the next time I see him to be in heaven." 

"That might just be how it is, George."

"He's going to come back for me, I know it." George stood up and wiped his eye. "He'll be back." He walked out of the kitchen and out the door without a goodbye.

_Summer 1944_

_George Henry Davidson,_

_This letter has been written by Dreams previous chief. He left camp a few months ago, and as of right now, we've lost touch. He wasn't writing back because he was severely injured and was unable to even stand. As he got better and had a decent recovery, he was drafted even further from you, but the address of the camp is unknown to everyone, including me. He wasn't the only soldier being drafted to other camps, and a replica of this letter was sent to their families and friends as well._

_I'm unaware if Dream is alive or not, but don't give up hope, he could still be out there and unable to write. All I know is when he was drafted, he was healthy and stronger than before._

_I hope you hear from him soon, and I hope I was able to ease your mind in these difficult times. He should be home soon, from the way the war is playing out, maybe a few months._

_-Cheif Wakeman_

George let out a laugh of relief and set the paper on his desk. "He's still out there."

Even though there was no leading evidence that Dream would be on a train, George still made his way to the station in the heat of July. 

Living on a sliver of hope, he waited for Dream to come running off a train, his camouflage clothes smelling like ash and his hair outgrown. He waited every day for the rest of July, the rest of August until finally, September rolled around and it got too cold to sit outside for hours on end.

_Fall 1944_

_Dream darling,_

_I haven't felt your touch in two years. I'm losing my mind. Should I give up?_

_I don't think I can keep doing this, my love. Would you want me to move on? How am I supposed to even fall in love again when I'm still in love with you? It's you, Dream. It's always been you, and it will never stop being you. So much time is going by where I can't think without you. I've lost so much weight, so much hope. I need you to hold me, I need to see your smile._

_Dandelions are naturally white, I remember that, so every day I go to the par and wish on them that you'll be home. They're about to start dying, though, they can't survive the harsh winters we have here. Are you in America? If so, are the winters cold there too?_

_This feels like a bad dream. I want to wake up. One moment, we were too good to be true, I had to pinch myself to make sure it was real, and the next, it's a nightmare that I'm unable to escape from. Why are we such a tragedy? Where did we go wrong? We were young, innocent, and in love, is that where we went wrong? Were we never meant to be? Don't tell me that's true, you made me see colors._

_I just want to play in the snow with you this winter, can we have a Christmas together? Our first Christmas? That would be magical, but instead, I'm miserable. I'm absolutely miserable. I need you, I can't move on. Even if I die alone, I'll never forget that you're my lover. You're the one, baby._

_The last I saw you, you had short, blonde hair. You were wearing a black shirt and green camo pants. You held me tightly, but the second you let go, I knew it would be the last time I'd feel you like that. I wish you'd come home. I miss you more than I've missed anyone in my life. I don't care how long you take anymore, I'm going to wait for you. I'll wait until the day I die because a hug from you will solve everything. I'll be just fine if I get one last kiss from you before I go._

_I'm going to search through your art, reread your old letters, wear more of your clothes. I miss you, darling. I love you forever. I won't give up on you._

_George_

_Winter 1944_

Beautiful, sad, love tragic of fear. That's what they were. 

George began taking down his Christmas tree, preparing for the new year. He had a lonely Christmas but turned it around at the end of the day when he adopted a new cat, naming it Cat. He put the last ornament in a cardboard box and shut it sadly. "Well, Cat, that was the last one." He put the box in a closet and went to his office where he had a fan drying the bedsheets. He felt them, seeing if they were fully dry, then placed them back on the bed. 

"Come here, kitty kitty." George heightened his voice when talking to Cat, and she jumped on the bed with him. "I'm going to write to Dream, okay?"

Without a sound, George grabbed his notebook and flipped through his past notes to Dream that he was unable to send. 

_Dream darling,_

_I got us a new cat yesterday! I didn't want to officially name her without you being here, so I'm going to call her Cat until you get back, then maybe we can think of a name together. I do have a list of names that I like though, so before I forget them all, here they are. Patches, Cookie, just Cat, and Oliver. That's actually not much of a list, but I like those so far. I kinda like Patches best, but nothing is official until you come home._

_I cleaned the bedsheets today, I hope you're not upset. It's okay, you're coming home soon, I can feel it. Your previous chief said the war seemed to be almost over, I hope that's true, it's been going on for five years already. Guess what? Next month, it'll be exactly three years since we met. That's insane. I wish we didn't waste these two years, even though you weren't here by demand._

_AnyW ~~a **YS-** ~~that's so embarrassing, Cat bumped her head on my hand and it messed me up. Anyways (for real this time) I'm wearing your turtleneck sweater, it's so big on me and I can't remember what color it is but it's just about the last article of clothing in this house that smells like you. It's crazy, really, how long it's been. I can't believe I'm still writing to you. My long lost lover._

_I hope you're okay, it seems selfish how I'm just thinking of myself. I hope you're safe, in good hands. I hope you had a nice Christmas yesterday, maybe you get to come home soon. Spring will be soon, I'll start wishing on dandelions again, don't worry. I'll wish you home, love._

_Xoxo,_

_George_

_Spring 1945_

As promised, George was sitting in a field of dandelions with Cat on his lap. He was reading a new book he'd picked up from the library on his way here, leaving Serenade in the past. George stroked Cats back with his left hand, holding his book with his right. The sun was warming them, and he looked up from the ages at the cloudless sky. 

"The only thing that would make this day more perfect, would be Dream sitting here by my side with a picnic basket. Am I right, Cat?" George looked down at Cat, realizing she'd never even met Dream. "Oh, well, that's okay. You'll meet him soon."

George was starting to get somewhat used to Dreams absence, getting more comfortable with the insanity. He knew Dream wasn't coming, in his mind, but he wouldn't believe it. He pulled out his notebook and unscrewed a fresh bottle of ink. With a deep breath, he began.

_Dream darling,_

_The definition of insanity and trying the same thing over and over with no success. An alternate definition would be 'telling yourself something over and over, knowing it's true but refusing to accept or believe it.' In this case, love, I'm absolutely insane. In my mind, you're here, sitting with me, getting a rosy sunburn on your cheeks with me, petting Cat._

_I know you're not coming back. It's time for me to accept it, isn't it? You'd think after two years of not hearing from you, I'd given up, right?_

_All I want to do is hold you. I'm going to wish on every single dandelion in this field if I must. Drive me to suicide, if you don't come home in another year, that's all I'm waiting. There's no point in living if it's not with you._

_I'm sad, confused, lonely, and unsatisfied. I'm begging you._

_Well, I'm going to finish reading this book, and I'll probably write you again tonight._

_George_

_P.s. I'm reading Nightwood by Djuna Barnes- It's about a lesbian relationship, written in 1936. I'm not sure how it'll be, but it seems short and interesting._

_May 1945_

_Family and friends of Dream,_

_We are happy to report the war is over, and soldiers shall be sent home within the next few months. This is not a promise that your soldier has made it, many young men have died throughout the last six years, but there is hope. Wait on him at the train station, the trains will deliver soldiers back home through the time slot: 5:30-8:00 pm every day for the next few months._

_Good luck, everyone was so brave._

_-The Square_

George threw the paper on the floor after ripping open the envelope and picked Cat up carefully. "Come on, we're going to wait on Dream together."

George had Cat in his arms as he got situated on the bench, the train station crowded with thousands of other families waiting on their soldier to come home. He sat there waiting for hours, even past the expected time slot. "Are you ready to go home?" Cat looked up at George with tired eyes and licked her lips. 

"Okay." George got off the bench and turned to leave the station, but stopped when he heard a train stop on the tracks. He flipped his head, watching soldiers pour out of the train doors. Hope filled Georges's stomach, butterflies sprouting every time he saw a light-haired soldier step out. The last soldier came out of the train, and George's heart dropped. "Maybe tomorrow."

_August 1945_

George had spent an average of four hours at the station every day, each day, more and more hope dissolving. Some days, he'd wait with Cat, other days he'd bring a book, or his notebook to write more useless letters. Today, he'd brought both Cat and his notebook. 

Cat was sat next to him on the bench as he opened his notebook with a crack of the spine. 

_Dear dream,_

_I'm still waiting at the station for you, it's been three months since the wars been over. Carts of soldiers are still arriving, and my heart can't help but race every time I see soldiers coming out. I get green with envy watching soldiers' families hug them, kiss them, smother them with affection, and I have to sit here as the night gets cold._

_I know you'll come, you're not just somebody that I used to know. I still know you, I still hear your voice. If you're really dead, you're welcome anytime in my dreams. Cats excited to meet you, I know it. I think she knows herself as Cat, I took too long deciding a real name for her, not to mention, I'm not even sure what colors she is._

~~_I visited your mother, months ago she thinks you're dead._ ~~

~~_I think you're dead._ ~~

_'See you later?' What kind of lying bullshit is that, Dream? How much later am I going to see you? I haven't written a poem in such a long time, but I've been reading a bunch of books while waiting for you at the station._

_There's a quote I heard somewhere, in one of those books, I wish I could remember which one, but it was a sad book that brought me into my emotions._

_"I had someone once who made every day mean something._

_  
And now…. I am lost…._

_  
And nothing means anything anymore."_

_I think me and Cat are both excited to meet you._

_George_

_January 1946_

The war had been over for eight months, no sign of Dream, and George gave up on waiting at the station. 

To distract his insane mind, George wrapped a colorless scarf around his neck and set out for a mid-morning walk. He decided since it was still early and he had a bit of change in his pocket, he'd take a trip to the old coffee shop. The walk was chilly, leaves flying over his shoes as he walked. Every day, he thought more and more about Dream. Not a day in his life went by where Dream wasn't on his mind. 

As he pushed open the cold, iron door, he went and sat at the bar. The usual waitress wasn't there, but another one was. 

"Hello, welcome." Her voice was high pitched and it irritated George from the beginning.

"Good morning." George grabbed a napkin from the steel napkin holder. "Do you have a feather and ink by chance?"

"Of course." The waitress slid a jar of ink and feather to George, and he held the grey feather delicately.

"Much appreciated." George took a deep breath after sipping his cup of coffee. He hadn't written a poem in so long, he was afraid the creativity would fail him. He pulled out one of Dreams' oldened letters with the list of ideas he'd written out for George to write about. "None of these can be described in a way I'd be able to describe him."

Since even Dreams' list was a failure, he wrote about the one thing he knew he could find a million and a half words for- Dream. 

He wrote the first words, and stared at the cursive, the ink bleeding through the veins of the napkin. ' _Dream, darling,'_

"Waiting on me?"

George lifted his head and spun around in his chair, his heart swelling in his chest. " _Dream,_ "

Dream stumbled backward at the impact of George's hug and giggled as tears welled in his eyes. 

George sobbed into Dreams chest, shaking drastically with every breath. " _Oh, I've missed you, darling._ "

Dream tightened his grip around George's small body, and buried his face in his hair, reminding himself of the scent. He brought his voice to a whisper, tears streaming down his cheeks. " _I love you._ "

George pulled himself from Dreams body, colors exploding in the world around him. "You're really here?" 

Dream nodded and smiled when George embraced him in another hug. "I'm so sorry it took so long."

"I'm just glad you're back." The brunette looked up at Dream and cradled his face. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Finally." Dream smiled as George pressed his lips on his own, the kiss tasting like coffee. They reminded each other how it felt to be passionately kissed, warm, moist, soft yet urgent and slightly aggressive. George pulled away and wiped his eye. 

"I've missed you so much, Dream I was to the point of straight insanity." George cradled Dreams face again and wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Me too, love." 

-

Later that evening, Dream helped George clean around the house, and when they had finished playing with Cat and drinking tea, Dream lied on his back on the bed with George straddling his torso.

"I missed you so much, I can't stop saying it." George felt around on Dreams chest, sliding his hands under his shirt, feeling a lump of skin. He lifted Dreams shirt and ran his finger lightly of a small scar left by a bullet. "Dream, this is so close to your heart."

"I'm just glad it went through me instead of getting stuck."

"It went through you?"

"I was shot in the back." 

"Dream," George leaned down and kissed the scar. 

"That was the injury that kept me from writing." Dream played with George's hair, fingering through the locks. 

"I'm glad you're okay, love." George felt like it was too good to be true. After years of waiting, he was back in his lovers' arms. "Can we have sex now?"

Dream giggled and placed his hands on George's hips. "Didn't I tell you I'd treat you like a king?"

"I think something like that was said." George smiled shyly and kissed Dream, butterflies coming alive. 

Dream let out a sigh when George pulled away. "I'm home."

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, I WORKED ON THIS RELIGIOUSLY LOL. if there's anything I should change, don't be afraid to leave comments, I'll take any suggestions to make it better :) WOAH 133K CHARACTERS? LOL THIS TOOK A VV LONG TIME I HOPE U LIKED IT AAAAAAAAAAA


End file.
